A long time ago, Ned was known to be the silent wolf of Winterfell.
Unlike his other siblings, he rarely got mad, or made any brash decisions or actions. The wolf blood his brother Bran and his sister Lya had was supposed to not be running in his veins, and he had none of the mischievousness of Ben.
And because of that damned blood, Bran lost his life to the mad king; his pup brother became some other people's brother, and his sister Lya…..
Sometimes, he wondered if his Unwolfish personality was what kept him alive, what made him the Lord of Winterfell. A title he never asked for.
And yet today, he was proven wrong in the worst way.
He indeed had the wolf blood; it was only dormant, waiting for something, or someone to awaken it.
He had slapped his blood, the boy that was entrusted into his care, the boy he had sworn to protect, the boy he had lie for, The boy he betrayed his best friend for, the boy who was the last piece of his sister in this life.
Ned could not endure hearing his beloved sister being called a whore, and especially not by her own son. But still the slap was uncalled for.
He should have used words instead, or worse lie to Jon about the identity of his mother.
He had tried to do the latter countless times. The Gods know how many times he tried to tell Jon that his mother was a fisherman's daughter he met during war, or that she was Wylla the woman who nursed him, or even Ashara Dayne like it was often rumored.
But he never did, he could not dishonor them, especially Ashara.
He had lied for eleven years to the point where he was no longer capable of lying again, not even to appease his blood's mind.
He still stood at the same place where he was talking to Jon, unable to move from there.
At first, he had wanted to follow the lad and speak with him, but he was so plagued with dark thoughts and regrets that he delayed the talk.
It was better this way, he thought.
He would wait until both he and Jon calmed down.
Until then, he decided to pray to the Old Gods like he always did. He needed to ask for forgiveness, guidance and strength.
A sleepless night was a small punishment for what he did.
He stayed there until it was time to break his fast with his family, and headed to Jon's chambers to ask for forgiveness.
The boy was not there, and from the state of his bed, Ned concluded that he did not even spend the night there.
And so, the Lord of Winterfell started looking for his bastard.
He checked every single part but to no avail. By midday, he notified everyone in the castle about Jon's disappearance, and ordered them to join the search.
After three days of search, there still was no trace of Jon Snow.
Eddard Stark was tired, sleepless, and panicking at the same time. He was praying that the child would be found safe and sound, that the promise that had cost him so much would be kept.
Alas, the gods do not always hear the plea of the faithful.
He had just come back home from one of the search patrols, when he heard probably the most terrible news since the rebellion.
Jon's clothing was found in the woods, full of blood.
No corpse was found, however his things were found near an area where lethal wolves often wandered.
The boy was dead.
This terrible conclusion leads Ned to nearly collapse, and to cry for the first time in years.
The funeral of his nephew was small and sad, and certainly not what a prince deserved.
Eddard tried at least to have his things burned to ashes, just like the valyrian old way, in order to honor the boy's Targaryen origins.
It took not over a moon, for life to return as it was in Winterfell.
The occupiers of the castle were just as lively as before, unlike their lord.
Even his children seemed to get over what happened: his son Robb got back to training with Theon, Sansa still wore the grieving colors but was often giggling with her friend Jeyne, Arya who cried so much that her eyes swelled seemed to be back to her wild cheerful self, and Bran was too young to grasp the concept of death.
He was the only one who suffered due to the death, it seemed.
Ned was unable to smile or laugh like he did before and he noticed that his usually brooding like face looked worse than before.
Forgetting was a blessing he did not have the chance to enjoy. He could never forget his greatest failure. He failed to keep his promises, and to protect a child.
He was unworthy of the deed.
And so he plunged in dark thoughts and lordship duties to punish himself, confining himself in his solar.
He was reading some the letters that his bannermen sent him, when Cat entered. She looked radiant in her white and grey attire, and looked at him with a smile.
"Ned I am with child" she told him cheerfully.
Hearing that, Eddard Stark smiled back at her and embraced her. He looked happy about the news.
Indeed it was wonderful, but how could he be blessed with another child, when his dead sister just lost her only son.
The gods were cruel.
The gods were indeed cruel, Wylla thought.
They were always punishing the innocent, and leaving the guilty unpunished.
Her dear daughter has just suffered from a miscarriage, again. This was the third time.
At first, it seemed that everything was going well.
She was in perfect health, and Wylla even came to stay with her daughter at her keep while her husband is away, in order to assist her and take care of her.
But that was all in vain.
Her sweet daughter was paying for her mother's own sins.
Wylla could not afford seeing her child suffering like she was right now. And so she headed back to her little house, as soon as the good mother came to the keep. Her daughter did not seem to mind, for she tried to look strong, to look unmoved by the happenings.
"I don't want my husband to see me like this, mama. We're still young, and we can still try for a child another time" She had told her when she was leaving.
Only Wylla was afraid that they would try countless times, and that it will always end in tragedy, for she had not righted her mistakes.
She was paying for what she did to the boy, for the lies she told, and the truths she hid.
If only she could see the boy and tell him everything.
But she was in Dorne and he was so far away in the cold north.
Correcting her mistake was impossible; therefore she was only able to ask the gods for mercy.
There was a small sept in town, one she had not gone to in ages. She was never a religious woman, not because she did not believe in the gods, but because she never had the time to pray.
She was busy raising and feeding her children, making sure they got a better life than she did.
She prayed there to the seven deities until she calmed a bit, and then decided to finally go home.
As she was going out, a small child rushed into her.
He looked at her, he assessed her and then he asked her "Are you Wylla?"
In response to the question, she only nodded.
"It is not too late. Tell the boy the truth but not all the truth, and all will be well. He will know everything when the right time comes" The mysterious boy told her before running away.
She did not understand what happened, or even what he told her. Her head was too occupied to grasp anything, or care about anything.
She was exhausted mentally and physically, and needed rest and a good night of sleep at her own room.
And so she continued her way to her home.
When she arrived finally, she found her son devon sitting in one of the tables with another boy maybe the same age as him, they did not notice her entering the house.
When she walked closer to them she finally saw who it was: a mirror image of a dragon price she once served.
Surprisingly, unexpectedly, the gods had heard her pleas.
She fainted with her eyes filled with tears of joy.
